


Feathered Indians

by TotalBellarkeTrash



Series: Bellarke, The Musical- Shorts Based on Songs [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Music, Mutual Pining, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 06:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30084744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotalBellarkeTrash/pseuds/TotalBellarkeTrash
Summary: For the life of him, Bellamy Blake couldn't figure out why his best friend had cut him off halfway through his freshman year at university. After one questionably sent text, he shows up looking for answers.Based on the song Feathered Indians by Tyler Childers
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Bellarke, The Musical- Shorts Based on Songs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213604
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	Feathered Indians

**Author's Note:**

> This was a late night, spur of the moment fluff piece. It is terribly written, and I apologize in advance.

It’d been three weeks. Three weeks since Clarke had last reached out, sent a text, a call, anything. Before Bellamy left for NYU, they had promised one another that they’d talk every day, and for a while, they did. Bellamy thought back to his first couple weeks at school, their conversations may not have been lengthy, but at least they were present. Clarke would send a text checking in, Bellamy would call her after an exam, they kept familiar and close with one another, despite the three hour drive separating the two. It was nice and reminded him of home, of his life that he had to force himself, tooth and nail, to tear away from. He didn’t want to leave, although he knew Octavia was safe with Kane and he knew that this was the best thing for his future, but his heart? Well, it wasn’t too sure. His heart longed to stay in his hometown, with his sister and his Clarke. Despite this, Bellamy had managed to peel himself away from the tiny shack on North Street and begin his life as an adult, however challenging that may prove to be. 

Except now it had been three weeks, and Clarke had all but cut him off. Even worse, he had no idea the reason, though not despite a lack of trying. For hours, every day, for the last three weeks, Bellamy had mulled over every conversation. He replayed them in his head, thinking of any wrong words he could’ve said, any misplaced joked, half-hearted wit. He re-read their texts, stalked her social media. Every avenue left him dry, and he ended up with more questions than answers. After a few days of no replies, Bellamy had confronted her. 

**September 21st**

**Bellamy @ 9:23am:** Clarke, what’s wrong? 

**Bellamy @ 11:34am:** Hello? I can see you’ve been reading this. 

**Bellamy @ 3:12pm:** What did I do? 

**September 23rd**

**Bellamy @ 12:03pm** : I miss my best friend

**Bellamy @ 12:45pm:** Please just tell me what I fucked up. 

**September 26th**

**Bellamy @ 1:56am:** miss u princess

That was the last text Bellamy had sent before he forced himself to stop. He didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom what he could’ve possibly done to make Clarke, his best friend, his partner in crime, cut him off with no explanation. It burned his mind, left his stomach in knots for days. Truthfully, he was falling apart. His rock had withdrawn, pulled into herself, away from him. 

That’s why he was so confused, when three weeks later, it finally came.

**October 18th**

**Clarke @ 9:34pm** : I miss you, too. 

When the notification let out their first chimes, Bellamy had ignored it, as his lips had been pressed firmly against Raven’s, the girl he’d been hooking up with for the past week. Bellamy liked her, in a flirty, no-strings-attached way. She was his type, long dark brown hair, smart and stubborn. They’d just settled into a deep kiss when the chimes came again, due to Bellamy’s neglect of it the first time. He groaned, pulling his lips from hers, and shot Raven an apologetic look as he picked up the phone, intent on silencing it, but stopping mid-way, his eyes registering the name on the notification bubble. 

Bellamy’s heart had stopped, his breath caught in his throat. 

“Are you okay?” Raven pried, picking up on his unease. Even if they’d only hooked up three times at this point, Bellamy was an easy read, and he knew so. He shook his head, forcing his eyes to draw from the phone screen up to Raven’s deep brown eyes. Her brows were knitted together in confusion, or worry- he wasn’t quite sure. 

“I- I think I need to go,” Bellamy stuttered, raising to his feet and grabbing the leather jacket off the grey suede couch in Raven’s dorm room. Raven was talking, questioning, probing, but Bellamy couldn’t bring himself to produce an answer to any of her questions. Truthfully, he couldn’t understand any of her questions. His mind was flying a mile a minute. He knew it was rude, and it wasn’t like him at all to be such a blatant asshole, especially to someone he’d been seeing casually. Despite this, Bellamy strode out of the complex and straight into the black Jeep wrangler, which suddenly felt like a gateway to the place he should’ve never left. He didn’t know why he hadn’t done this before, why he didn’t jump in his car the second day Clarke ignored him and zipped back to his old life, the people he left behind. Maybe it was pride, maybe the pain of rejection. Whatever it had been, it was gone now, replaced instead by a need to know the truth. Anything that was holding him back before seemed small and insignificant now, as the engine purred to life and zipped towards the interstate. 

***

Clarke never meant to hurt him, she didn’t. The communication, or lack thereof, was nothing personal. It wasn’t an attempt to hurt Bellamy’s feelings, or make him feel as if he’d ever been anything less than good to her. Clarke told herself, over and over, that distancing herself from him was the best thing to do. University people don’t need old friends weighing them down. At first, she worked tirelessly to maintain their friendship, sending him cute texts throughout the day, snapchatting him every meal she ate, occasionally a picture of her legs tucked in the bath as she relaxed for the day. It made her feel connected, feel close to him. Each time, he replied back with a flirty joke, a picture of ramen noodles, a winky face in response to her bath pictures. Things were good. They were comfortable, despite the distance between them. 

Then the letter came. 

She’d done it- gotten into her first choice school. UCLA’s Pre-med Program. 

Joy, success, blissful pride- that’s how Clarke should’ve felt, she knew that. She knew that at any other time in her life, she’d be jumping for joy and shouting her acceptance from the rooftops. Upon peeling that sticky paper back, however, sliding the letterhead stamped page out, she felt nothing but dread. UCLA, her dream school, happened to be 2,800 miles from her best friend. The boy she felt she couldn’t do this life without. The boy who, unbeknownst to her, she’d begun falling in love with. Clarke tried for weeks to push the thought of Bellamy away- his tanned, freckled skin, dark brown hair that fell in loose curls around his ears, crooked smile that lit her ablaze. She’d tried, honestly, to forget the person she longed for every minute of every day. As the flirty texts increased, the pain in her heart did too, and Clarke knew she had no option. She couldn’t continue to be a part of his life. She knew she’d never get on that plane come next August. She knew she wouldn’t leave, and the thought of losing everything she’d just worked years for scared her just a little bit more than the thought of losing Bellamy. 

She did what she had to do, as she always had done.

She cut him off. 

At first it was hard. If there was anything that Clarke wasn’t used to- it was going days without speaking to Bellamy. They’d hardly spent a day apart before he left for uni. Then, over the days, it got easier. She had to stop herself mid-text less often, pictures that would’ve went straight to him instead went to her story, little by little, she chipped Bellamy Blake out of her life, her personality. 

Or so she thought.

All it took was one picture, one image that had been tucked into her wallet, that truth be told, she’d totally forgotten about. It was a picture of the two of them, both covered in icing from Octavia’s birthday cake last year. After everyone enjoyed a slice, Bellamy being Bellamy, took it too far and smushed a piece into Clarke’s cheek, laughing as he slipped behind her, just out of grasp.  _ “You asshole!” _ She remembered screeching, but an uncontrollable smile had adorned her face as she took half the cake and splattered it atop his head. It was a happy moment. A moment in which they were both giggling uncontrollably, eating cake off of each others faces. Octavia had snapped the moment with her polaroid, allowing it to dry before handing it over to Clarke. She’d tucked it into the second fold of her LV wallet, wanting to forever remember the moment and the happiness they felt together. 

That picture sent her spiraling. 

Before she knew what was happening, she was half a bottle deep in her mothers (who happened to be out of town) fancy wine and sending reckless texts to boys she’d sworn off. Clarke knew, even as her finger hit the blue arrow, that it was a mistake. With a single text, the emotions she’d been fighting to bottle up for the past few weeks came rippling out of their homes like a flood, a tidal wave. Once that barrier was broken, there was no going back.

***

**_“If I'd known she was religious,_ **

**_Then I wouldn't have came stoned,_ **

**_To the house of such an angel,_ **

**_Too fucked up to get back home,”_ **

It was 1:47am before Bellamy’s car rolled into the stone-laid driveway of the Griffin residence. It was also at that time, that Bellamy realized how bad of an idea this probably was. After all, Clarke had made it quite clear she wanted nothing to do with him now. Bellamy knew, as he shifted the car into park, that this night would destroy him. His hands shook with nervousness, anxiety rippling through his body as he stared at the front door of the large house. He knew Clarke was likely fast asleep by this point, tucked away in her cream-colored sheets, dreaming of god knows what. The longer he stared, studying the oak wood door, its curves and bumps, the harder it became to move. Bellamy was scared of what would come out of his mouth when he saw her. Would it be words of anger? Heartfelt confessions of the hell that she’d put him through the last three weeks? Would he even say anything at all, or would he just push her up against that brown oak door and kiss her like he’d always wanted to. 

“I can’t do this,” Bellamy muttered to himself, reaching into his center console and pulling out a brown bag. There he sat, in Clarke Griffin’s driveway, smoking a joint, blowing the smoke of each inhale out the partially cracked window. Bellamy thought of how many times he’d done this in the past, usually with Clarke right next to him, the two passing it back and forth and chatting about anything and everything. It was starkly different to be sitting alone and doing it. Instead of two teenagers having a good time, Bellamy felt the weight of his predicament rolling off of his shoulders with each draw. This wasn’t smoking for enjoyment, but rather of need. A need to calm his nerves, force his body to relax into itself, clear his mind enough that he could fathom words. 

It’d been 45 minutes when he saw a light flicker on in the house. Chills ran up his spine as he buried the tip of the joint deep into the ashtray situated deep in the center console. For a brief moment, Bellamy feared it may have been Abby or Jake, and he was about to be busted hotboxing in the driveway of a woman he was too terrified to actually go talk to. 

Much to his pleasure, it was not Abby nor Jake that swung the heavy wooden door partially open. Instead, it was Clarke, who looked exhausted in nothing but a red plush robe. Bellamy felt a smile pull at the corner of his lips upon seeing her, a warm, familiar feeling rush to his stomach. Even in the dead of night, Clarke was so beautiful. Her wavy blonde hair tucked tightly into a messy bun, leftover makeup smudged at the corner of her eyes, she looked homely, inviting, comforting. 

Before he could register his own actions, Bellamy swung open the black Jeep door and hopped out, basically running up the concrete slab steps to the woman standing in front of him. Clarke’s arms were folded across her chest, a look of confusion splayed on her face. Bellamy was too high to care. 

“My princess,” He whispered, grabbing her free hand and pulling her close to him. Clarke immediately recoiled, pushing against his body, confused as to why he was there,  _ how  _ he’d gotten there, rather. She could smell the earthy, weed scent that was once a shared one, Bellamys slower movements, the confidence in which he’d taken her hand. She knew he was stoned, and couldn’t fathom how he’d made the 3 hour drive in this condition. Immediately, the only emotion she could bear to feel was anger. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Clarke hissed between clenched teeth. She was in no mood to exchange formalities. As soon as the harsh words left Clarke’s lips, still tinted red from the evenings make-up, her cheeks flushed from the earlier buzz, she felt a pang of guilt. Bellamy’s face twisted, the smile dropping from his eyes, now replaced with sadness. His brows were slightly furrowed together, confused at her rejection.

“I just wanted to see you,” Bellamy explained sheepishly, taking a step back. “You texted me back, I just- I should go.” 

Bellamy took a step, turning his back to her. It felt like a boulder had been placed in his stomach, a tightrope around his heart, squeezing it with every step he took towards the Jeep. He couldn’t for the life of him remember why he came here, what made him think it was a good idea. It was clear she wouldn’t give him any answers, and she had no interest in seeing him. As his hand snaked through the driver’s side door handle, Clarke’s voice cut through the air like a knife. 

“Wait.”

Bellamy paused, not yet lifting his gaze from the black paint. 

“You can’t drive like that. Just come inside. Sober up some.” 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

Bellamy had to focus on doing just that, before he could even begin to answer Clarke. 

“I shouldn’t have came.” He admitted, his hand falling from the rough handle, his body rotating to face hers. Clarke didn’t say anything else, instead he watched as she turned her back to him and walked inside, leaving the front door open as she did, solidifying her invitation inside. Bellamy followed her trail, despite everything in his body screaming at him not to. He let the lock click behind him and scanned the room. Everything was much like it’d been two months ago. Magazines were still stacked high on the fireplace, a bowl of fruit on the granite kitchen island, the shoes by the door organized just so- not in a messy pile as he was so used to. Seeing that her bedroom door was open, he entered in, his eyes searching for Clarke. 

Sitting on her bed, beside the flickering lamp, she looked even more impossibly beautiful to him. He wanted to gather her in his arms, kiss her, stroke her hair, and apologize for every wrong thing he’d ever done.

Wrong thing. 

Suddenly, Bellamy was snapped back to reality, his initial mission came tumbling back with clarity. 

“What did I do?” He asked, echoing the words he’d texted just a few weeks ago. He couldn’t hide his sadness, the rising anger, as tears began to prick in the corner of his eyes. The only woman he’d ever loved now hated him, and he had no idea why. Clarke was quiet for a moment, chewing her bottom lip, her eyes not meeting his. She took a deep, shaky breath and grabbed an envelope from her nightstand, shoving it towards Bellamy. He stared at it confused, before having to physically remind himself to reach out and grab it. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he pulled the letter from its home, scanning over the words, his confusion and unease at the situation growing. “I don’t understand.” 

“I got into UCLA.” Clarke said, matter of factly, forcing a smile Bellamy could see right through. 

“Congratulations,” He said slowly, folding the sharp white paper and tucking it neatly back into the envelope. “I’m still not sure what that has to do with why you suddenly hate me.”

A laugh erupted from Clarke, but it wasn’t a funny one. It was one of those people gave in a sad and ironic way, a laugh that is present only to keep one from sobbing. She finally let her eyes meet his, and Bellamy’s stomach flipped as her baby blues peered up at him, large and round and soft, ones he’d stared into so many times before. They were like getting lost in an ocean, a sea of Clarke. He had mentally to pull his mind out of the sea when she finally began to explain.

“I don’t hate you, Bellamy. I could never, ever, in a million years hate you.”

“Then why did you cut me off? What did I do-”

“Nothing!” Clarke’s voice rang out, interrupting his words, finally breaking halfway through. The hard exterior Clarke had coated herself with began cracking. “You didn’t do a damn thing, Blake. I couldn’t- I can’t-”

Clarke stammered over her words, burying her face in her hands. Bellamy, for perhaps the first time that evening, realized that Clarke had seemed more sad than angry. Rather than press further, he sat gently beside her on the bed, allowing his weight to push her into him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. This time, Clarke did not fight it. Instead, she settled into the spot she had a million times before. It was comforting, holding her again. They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say next. Bellamy didn’t want to pry, probe into something that he had no business in, and Clarke didn’t want to let the floodgates of her emotions spill anymore than they already had. 

“I missed you so much, Clarke.” Bellamy finally said, laying a light kiss on the top of her head. He felt her sigh and chuckle slightly. 

“This. This is what I couldn’t do,” Clarke whispered, breaking their hug, bringing her eyes to meet his. Bellamy’s brows knitted together, he left one hand resting on her forearm, trying desperately to keep Clarke open and honest with him. “I thought it’d be easier if I distanced myself, tried to cut the attachment to you. I can’t do that though. I can’t go to UCLA, Bellamy. I can’t leave you. You’re my best friend. ” She admitted. 

Bellamy’s jaw clenched at her words.  _ Best friend _ . He knew that’s what they were, but something about it saddened him. He wanted so much more. He wanted to tell Clarke how much he loved her, not just as a friend, but that he was madly in love with her, that he had been for a while. Truth be told, he didn’t want Clarke to go to UCLA, although he hated himself for it. Bellamy knew it was selfish, and he could never ask her to stay on account of him. He wouldn’t  _ let _ her stay on account of him. 

“Clarke, I will put you on that damn plane myself if I have to,” He affirmed, relaxing, laying back into the bedsheets. He watched the white ceiling fan spin slowly, and it made his entire body feel dizzy. His eyes closed as he whispered, “You’re going. That’s final.”

***

**_“Smoking Spirits on the roof,_ **

**_She asked ain't anybody told ya that them things are bad for you,_ **

**_I said many folks have warned me, there's been several people try,_ **

**_But up till now, there ain't been nothing that I couldn't leave behind,”_ **

Clarke felt like such a weenie, sitting on the bed next to Bellamy, tears streaming down her face. She never wanted to become the kind of girl who lost her mind at the idea of spending some time apart from the person she had a crush on, but that’s exactly who she’d become. 

Despite this annoying feeling, she had a momentary sense of reminiscing at Bellamy’s words. They made her remember why she loved him so much in the first place, why it would be nearly impossible to tear herself away from him. No matter what, Bellamy wanted Clarke to succeed just as much, if not more, than she did herself. He pushed her to be better, to do better. In that same thought, Clarke was reminded just how much she didn’t want to go. She genuinely didn’t know if she could manage four years without him. Bellamy sat up quickly beside her, pulling her from her thought. 

“I’m stepping outside for a minute,” He excused, patting his pockets, his voice seeming even lower than usual. Clarke knew what that meant, so she sent him a purposeful frown. The fucking cigarettes. Bellamy had picked up the habit when he was young, 13 or 14. He’d slown down on them significantly after many scoldings from Clarke, but smoking during a high was one of those times he just couldn’t fizzle out completely. She followed him outside silently, pulling her robe around her tighter at the chilly October air. Bellamy chuckled at her, leaning up against the siding of her house, one of his feet kicked up against it to support his weight. 

“Cold, Princess?” He teased, raising one eyebrow at her. Clarke felt a chill run down her arms, but she wasn’t sure if it was more so from the cold or from Bellamy, his voice, the way he looked at her. As much as she hated to admit it, he looked hot leaning against her house, a puff of smoke billowing from his lips, his hair tassled in an endearing mess. Clarke sighed, forcing the thoughts of his body from her mind and took a seat on the concrete beside him. Bellamy followed her lead and slid down the wall, settling beside her, simultaneously wrapping an arm around her. 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Clarke whispered, gesturing to the burning cigarette placed between his fingers. She smiled to herself as Bellamy let out a groan. 

“Here we go again.”

“No, no lecture this time. I just had to put at least one word in,” Clarke defended, taking the cigarette from his fingers and dabbing the tip into the hard, grey concrete, putting it out. Bellamy shot her a look of dismay, but Clarke could see right through it, as he only tightened his grip on her. 

“It’s a habit,” Bellamy excused quietly, turning his face into Clarkes, pressing his lips in the little corner behind her ear, sending an electric spark through her entire body. “I can’t quit it. It’s as addictive as you are, love.” 

Clarke closed her eyes, reveling in his words. The sparks centered in her lower stomach, sending it into nervous flips as she felt his hot breath on her neck. Physical touch was not abnormal for them- in fact, they were almost always hugging, play fighting, rough housing. This was different, however. This wasn’t just a platonic, friendly embrace to her. This was deeper, and she wondered for a moment if she was imagining things, pretending that he shared her feelings when truthfully he loved her like a sister.

“Clarke?” He whispered, running a thumb over hers. Clarke nodded, once again chewing her lip. She was nervous now, the tone of his voice sounded serious. Bellamy gathered her hands in his, squeezing them reassuringly.

“There is no where you could go, that I would not follow you. You’re my better half. The head to my heart. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how far you try to run.” 

Clarke let a smile, a real one, fall on her lips. She nodded slowly, as if understanding this for the first time. Deep down, she knew Bellamy was right, and she wondered why she’d ever thought differently. Bellamy was loyal, fiercely so, and it made her love him all that much more. She longed to admit her feelings for him, to tell him the truth, but instead she just allowed her head to rest in the crook of his arm, listening to the beat of his heart, that steady thump-thump. Clarke knew in that moment that no matter what happened between them, Bellamy was her home. He always had been, and he always would be. 

She vowed never to lose sight of that again. 

**_“I'd go runnin' through the thicket,_ **

**_I'd go careless through the thorns,_ **

**_Just to hold her for a minute,_ **

**_Though it'd leave me wanting more,”_ **


End file.
